


Something Sweet

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blogging, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[‘Life is like a good meal. Better with good wine, great company, and something sweet to look forward to at the end of the day.’]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Written on commission for [tumblr user 'xmyheartxmyfingersx](http://xmyheartxmyfingersx.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \--

_ ‘Life is like a good meal. Better with good wine, great company, and something sweet to look forward to at the end of the day.’ _

That was the quote that scrolled across Jean’s blog in delicate gold script, the words he lived by, and that his many followers had come to expect him to repeat in the videos he often hosted. It was something his grandfather had told him when he was still too young to understand the importance the words would have in his life. It was his motto. 

And it was something he found himself contemplating as he looked out the window of his favorite cafe, waiting. 

Months, nearly a year or his life had led him to this point. He had been running a Chicago food blog for almost half a decade, but only in the last two years had it really taken off, and only in the latter half of that time had he truly felt like he was coming out of it with something worthwhile. Sure, he'd always loved food, and blogging about it was a natural progression for him, born from college summer boredom and a borrowed camera. And yeah, it was fun. It wasn't that it had ever been a  _ chore.  _

But in the weeks leading up to that afternoon, he had been enjoying his time online a lot more than ever before. 

Blogging in a larger city - especially about something as universally beloved as good food - Jean had a plethora of followers and fans, though it was rare that the feeling of importance he got from it bled over into his daily life. On the Chicago streets he was no one, just another person. Online though, he was loved by his readers and watched by critics, magazines and other blogs. He was someone special, there. 

In the late months of the previous year, one of his many readers had begun commenting more consistently on his posts, noticing smaller details that gave Jean a sense of accomplishment. At least someone noticed that he'd spent half his last paycheck revamping everything from his wardrobe to his wallpaper for the sake of a single video. The user was kind and complimentary of Jean’s new setting and suit, without the weird, feigned interest that he often felt wafting from the screen when he read comments left by other rabid followers. Known online simply as ‘M. Bodt’, Jean couldn't be certain if they were a man or a woman, but they were certainly a welcome presence in his feedback inboxes. 

Before long, Jean came to  _ crave  _ that feedback. He began looking for that name in his email notifications. It was always there, friendly and sweet without a trace of the creepy, overbearing tendencies that the internet made him wary of. There were even times it seemed  _ flirtatious,  _ though that much was perhaps Jean’s ego getting the best of him. 

Still, it was ever present, always worth looking forward to, and before long, Jean wanted more. More than the few lines that a comment space afforded the other person, and more direct contact than the site offered either of them. So one night, after a particularly long walk through the city with a heavy camera hanging from his neck and shoulders, Jean sat back with a glass of wine to relax in front of his computer, and let himself do what he'd been toying with the idea of for weeks. 

He sent M. Bodt an email. 

It was probably worded a little strangely, Jean conceded. He had relatively little experience in engaging with people from the earliest stages of getting to know them, especially if their only connection was a local food blog that they sat on opposite sides of. But before he'd even closed his laptop for the evening, Jean checked his email out of habit, and saw - amongst the myriad notifications and reminders - a reply. 

From  _ Marco Bodt.  _

M. Bodt, the irrationally excited voice in his head shouted, that's them, that's  _ him. _ He opened it, eyes flying faster than his brain could process. 

And that was how it started. When sending rapid fire emails for days on end became too much of a hassle, they moved their conversation to an instant messenger. They sat up that whole first night there chatting, skipping the awkward exchanges Jean assumed he'd have to wade through, and getting right to the fun of talking about food, friends, and life in Chicago. Marco lived not far from Jean, though their schedules almost ensured that they hadn't met before. But he was a long time follower of Jean’s blog, and the longer they spoke, the more Jean wished he'd noticed Marco earlier. 

‘So are you seeing anyone, here in the city?’ Marco asked, in one reply. The way he threaded the question into others about life there in the Windy City made it seem nonchalant, harmless. Still, Jean’s pulse quickened as he replied. 

‘No, not at the moment. Actually haven't had a girlfriend in quite a while. Or a boyfriend.’ 

He added the last bit without thinking, and regretted it almost as soon as he'd hit ‘send’. Was that trying too hard? Being too forward? Advertising his bisexuality and convenient availability a bit too much? He had no idea what Marco had intended when asking him the question, but his response left Jean with little doubt - and a little less anxiety about his own wording. 

‘That's hard to believe. You're awfully good looking to be single, but I can't blame you. A decent date is hard to find, in the city.’

‘That your way of saying you're looking for one?’ Jean replied, biting his tongue a bit. He was never so forward, especially not with other men, but he really had nothing to lose. Either Marco would bite, or they would back out of the topic altogether, and he could move on having never endured actually meeting a person he'd blown things with. No such a bad situation, either way. 

As it turned out, Marco did more than bite. 

‘Only if _ you're  _ the one offering.’ He added a few sarcastic emojis, but Jean knew that wasn't something a person with any sense would say lightly to someone they'd stayed up ‘til daylight talking to. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension built there from lounging with his laptop for so long, and hammered out his reply. 

‘I’d be happy to, if you're into that kind of thing. Maybe show you some things I’m gonna feature next month, and grab some coffee while we’re at it?’

And that's what had landed him where he was, the next afternoon. He was still tired from spending the bulk of his designated sleep time in front of a dimly lit screen, but he couldn't keep the smile off of his face as he waited for Marco’s arrival at the cafe they'd agreed to meet at. Everyone who walked through the door could have been him; Jean had never seen his face. But when a tall man with dark hair and broad shoulders shuffled politely into the crowd that lingered at the entrance, Jean somehow knew by his radiant smile that his date had arrived. 

“Marco?” He called, waving in the man’s direction. Just as he'd expected - hoped, really - that warm smile turned to fall on him, as Marco made his way toward Jean’s table. 

“Hi,” Marco said, a look of relief and genuine delight on his face. His voice was impossibly sweet, and the slightest bit sexy. He smiled at Jean. “Didn't think I was gonna survive that crowd back there.” He turned to glance back over his shoulder with a laugh. “Those guys all here for you?” 

Jean chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. Nobody knows me when I'm not behind a camera or a screen. Can't even get a discount on my food.” He pushed a seat out a bit, waving toward it, offering it to Marco. “I'm afraid in real life I'm nobody special.”

“Meeting you, I'd say just the opposite.” Marco grinned and took a seat, and Jean had never been so happy to wait to be served. 

The next few hours of coffee and close walking through the city were a blur in his mind's eye in no time, and soon they were arranging their next date, a real one this time, and Jean was heading up the stairs to his apartment with a fluttery feeling in his chest. He wasn't sure which he wanted more that night - to stay up and chat with Marco, or sleep sooner, so that he'd be one day closer to seeing him again. Never had he been so thankful for his work and the things it brought him, or the free time he had afterward each day. That week, and for every one after, he enjoyed life the way he always told others to. 

With good wine, great company, and something sweet to look forward to, at the end of the day. 


End file.
